Morning Yearning
by xx.archimedes
Summary: Arthur comes to a sudden realization that leaves him drifting, can Eames bring him back? SLASH yada yada, you don't like it, don't read it.


Okay, sooo I haven't written anything in a really long time. But the inspiration to write this came from this picture by sin_repent

http:/s15_radikal_ru/i189/1103/e4/a4dd1a10a1bf_jpg (replace under-dashes with periods!)

It's basically amazing so go check it out! Anyways, I hope you enjoy and please review!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Yes, this is Arthur/Eames. Which is SLASH. Male on male. Penis on penis. If this offends you don't read it.

* * *

><p><em>A finger's touch upon my lips<em>

_It's a morning yearning_

_Pull the curtains shut, try to keep it dark_

_But the sun is burning_

_The sun is burning. _

Arthur ached. That was the only word for it. It was a persistent throbbing _clenching _pulse right where he supposed his heart was. He woke with it and he fell asleep to it. It had come upon him one day quite suddenly about a few weeks after the Fischer job. Whenever he thought about that moment, he always tried to block the part right before it had hit him. Thinking about it only made the throbbing clench and pull harder at what he was sure must be a gaping empty hole inside his chest, his heart squeezed and crushed to nothing. He'd been walking into his living room from the kitchen, gulping down water and toweling the sweat off his face from his morning run when his phone had gone off. The blinking screen read Ariadne so Arthur picked up his phone and entered the password.

Ariadne: _look this pic I just found on my phone! Too cute hahahaha._

Arthur rolled his eyes and tapped the picture beneath her text; Ariadne had taken to sending him text messages she thought were funny while she was bored in an architecture class that was "beneath her intellectual level."

That's when it hit him.

The picture was of him and Eames; Arthur was glaring at Eames with an almost playful amount of malice and Eames was full out laughing, the corners of his eyes crinkled as he grinned warmly at Arthur. It was not the picture of Eames at all that made him realize it, but of himself. Arthur had been working as a point man for years, and it was his job to know people explicitly. Along the way he'd come to know himself better than anyone. He knew the look in his own eyes, and it made the scratchy feeling of unease that had been lingering in his subconscious since the Fischer job slam full force with blinding clarity. He was in love with Eames. Fuck, _fuck_ he was _in love_ with Eames. He had gasped and dropped the phone as the scratchy feeling of unease mutated into the throbbing ache that stayed with him currently day and night.

And he was a coward. He knew, because he knew himself, that he would not seek out the only possible solution to his problem. For it would destroy him if it was _not_ a solution and the hole would swell and grow and swallow him inside it completely, and he was too much of a cynic to take the chance. So in the end his only choice was to endure it and hope one day the ache would dull itself.

This morning was going to be a particularly bad one because his dreams had been particularly good ones. There was always the blissful moment where he was just waking, suspended between the real world and his dreams in which his solution was guaranteed, solid, all-encompassing, and he could feel the wisps of warm heat and touch lingering on his skin, but the sunlight would burn in through the curtains and reduce his dreams to ashes, floating uselessly away into the winds of reality.

Arthur clenched his eyes shut and strained with his mind to hold onto those last dregs of his dreams, trying to keep the ache at bay for as long as possible. Throughout his life, he could never remember his natural dreams once he woke up, even after years of dream work. Yet these were different, blindingly clear when he woke, as if to torture him with what he could never have. He took a shaky gulping breath and let himself replay last night's dreams in his head even though he knew it would only mean more pain later.

Flashes of _Eames, Eames, Eames _trickled through his conscious. Eames brushing a strand of hair from his eyes and flashing that warm tilted smile as his hand caressed Arthur's cheek. Eames touching his lips to Arthur's lightly, so lightly that it was really like they were just sharing breath and then smashing their lips together, delving inside his mouth with a hot tongue and _consuming_ him, lighting him on fire. Eames thrusting deep inside him over and over, brushing his lips so softly again with Arthur's, using his gasped breaths to whisper _I love you, I love you, I love you _against his mouth as if he wanted him to swallow it, let it thrum through his veins and live in him forever.

The last vestiges of his dreams slipped through his mind like smoke and when Arthur opened his eyes there were tears running down his face and he was gasping for breath. _God, _he wanted it, he wanted Eames to love him with the all-consuming intensity that Arthur already felt, wanted to feel him inside, outside, around him. He took in deep breaths, slowly working his heart back to a normal rhythm and containing the burning, decimating fire inside him to an empty hollowness with scorched edges.

Slowly, like a man ravaged by disease, Arthur pushed himself off his bed, moving through his morning routine without thinking, and found himself in the kitchen with a cup of coffee in his hand. That happened often, he'd find himself in a room of his apartment without remembering how he got there, preferring the inky blackness of his mind rather than reality. He finished his coffee and slipped on his running shoes, seeing his cell phone on the kitchen table. Another two messages from Dom, two from Ariadne, and one from Yusuf, worrying, questioning, _where are you?_ He hadn't spoken to anyone in almost three weeks he supposed. _And nothing from Eames, _his mind hissed at him. A sharp crack and a stinging in his hand alerted him to the crushed phone between his clenched fingers and the table.

"Shit," he gasped, letting go of the ruined phone and stumbling toward the sink to dig the tiny shards of glass out of his bleeding palm. He couldn't _do_ this. Slamming his other fist into the cabinet, Arthur turned sharply and walked out of his apartment, not caring that his palm was still bleeding and the other now had split knuckles. There were probably some pieces of glass still in them. Slamming the door behind him, Arthur went straight for the stairs and jogged down them. Running was the only thing that helped. He began with a brisk pace, warming up his tired aching body. Then he took it up a notch, going faster, people, colors blurring past him. His lungs burned and his legs burned but it blocked out the worst burning of all so Arthur welcomed it. He gasped and sprinted and ran until he could no longer go on, eventually ending up outside his own apartment again.

The diseased man was back, working his way slowly up the staircase as his battered hands shook on the handrail. During the day he volunteered at a pet rescue agency with cats, telling himself it was temporary but unable to find stability in anything since his realization. He liked volunteering there, he worked with the cats alone and their quiet, skeptical glances reminded him oddly of Eames eyes and the way he would stare at Arthur sometimes.

Arthur reached his floor, pushing open the stairwell door and stepping into his hallway. His hands had really begun to throb and he should probably actually clean them once he got inside.

"Arthur." The rough voice startled him from his clouded daze and he focused on the man standing in front of his apartment door. The full lips curled into a magnificent grin, crooked teeth flashing in the sunlight. He felt all breath leave him, his knees immediately giving out and he clutched at the side railing to keep himself standing, wincing as the shards of glass ground into his palm.

"Eames," Arthur breathed out, the sight of the man plaguing both his dreams and waking hours too much to bear. The smile slid off of Eames' face and he rushed forward, grasping Arthur's arms and holding him up.

"Darling, are you alright? Dom and Ariadne called and said they hadn't heard from you and were getting worried. I didn't have your number but I had your address so I just came here…" Eames trailed off, probably noticing that Arthur had closed his eyes and was taking staggering, rushed breaths like a fool. He couldn't get himself under control. Eames hands were burning into his skin, and the _Darling _and Eames was _here_ and Arthur could breathe him in, feel his warmth. "Why don't we just get you inside, huh?" Eames suggested, leading Arthur towards the door. Arthur nodded numbly and let himself be led, making his body and mind obey his commands to look and act normal.

Once inside the door, Arthur pulled himself together and forced himself to look straight at Eames without collapsing. "Would like some coffee? Or tea?" He offered, his voice strained from lack of recent use.

"That would be lovely. But you stay here and sit," Eames insisted, pushing him toward the sofa with more concerned looks. "You look frightful, and-Arthur what happened to your hands!" Arthur had momentarily forgotten his bloodied hands and looked down.

"Oh, I…uh…fell while I was on my run this morning and my hands landed in some glass. It's everywhere in the city," Arthur gave an awkward laugh and knew he must look ridiculous. "But I'll be fine, Eames. Really."

"You're being ludicrous. I'm going to get stuff to clean that with and some tea and you're going to tell me what the bloody fuck is going on," he replied, forcing Arthur to sit on the couch. "Do you have stuff to clean that with anyway?"

Arthur nodded numbly and said "bathroom," pointing to the hallway. Eames nodded and left to get supplies. As soon as Eames was out of sight, Arthur dropped his head into his hands and took long, deep breaths, staring dizzily at the floor. Eames was in his apartment. His apartment was a mess. He was a mess. How the hell was he going to convince Eames that everything was fine? The man was much smarter than he let on, and Arthur knew that if Eames thought something was wrong that he would be demanding to stay and fix it. Which Arthur could not handle. Having Eames here in his apartment all day and night would break him. He would end up telling Eames everything and then there would be a terrible awkwardness in which Eames tried to pretend everything was alright and that he wasn't bothered by Arthur's ridiculous infatuation and he would eventually go home and fade away, leaving Arthur to attempt to pick up the pieces and he knew he could not. Not from that.

Soft footsteps announced Eames return and Arthur made himself sit up and school his features into something resembling normalcy. _He could do this. _Eames set down two tea cups on Arthur's mahogany coffee table along with the band-aids and antiseptic. "Now Arthur, what's really been going on?" Eames asked, picking up tweezers and taking Arthur's hand gently in his own warm, callused one. Arthur's hollow ache gave a particularly hard throb when Eames grasped his hand and he swallowed roughly before speaking. He would have to say part of the truth without really telling Eames much of anything.

"I guess I've just been having a hard time after the Fischer job. You know, going that far down in a dream has some consequences on the mind, and I haven't really found another job that I want to take yet," Arthur said, relieved to hear his words come out smoothly. He looked down, as if embarrassed. "I have to keep checking my totem, seeing if this is reality or not." Eames squeezed his hand in comfort. That last part had actually been semi-true. On some mornings, Arthur would roll his loaded die over and over, hoping it would land on the wrong number and prove that this was not reality, but his dreams in fact were. A twinge ran up his arm as Eames dug a deeper shard out of his skin.

"There, darling. All done with that one. Other hand." Arthur set his other hand in Eames' and couldn't take his eyes away from Eames painstakingly taking each tiny shard out of Arthur's palm, making sure not to push the tweezers against his cut skin. Eames' hands were fantastic, better than Arthur remembered. They were big and tan and strong and had a surprising gentleness about them that Arthur could see as Eames wiped the cloth dipped in antiseptic along each of Arthur's cuts. A lump grew in Arthur's throat and he wondered instead how he could ever make this man leave.

His hands were gently placed back in his lap, bandaged and cleaned, but instead of reaching for his tea, Eames cupped his hand under Arthur's jaw and tilted his head so he could look straight into Arthur's eyes. Arthur panicked. There was no way he could keep his cool pretense while looking into Eames' intense, searching green eyes. "Arthur, I didn't come all the way to Chicago from London to hear you tell me bullshit excuses. I know you haven't even been looking for jobs. If you think I'm leaving until you let me help you then you're dumber than I thought. Please tell me what's going on," Eames demanded, a definite sound of command in his tone.

Suddenly, Arthur was intensely, irrationally angry. Why did Dom and Ariadne have to call Eames here; maybe they knew all along what Arthur did not? But he didn't care, he was _furious, _furious at them and Eames and himself for feeling this way. "You don't know _anything," _Arthur burst out, yanking his chin from Eames' grasp and standing up. He turned away and crossed his arms over his chest, protecting himself from what he was about to say. "I want you to go. I never asked you to come here," he bit out, the words tasting like poison on his tongue.

"God damnit, Arthur!" Eames yelled, startling Arthur in his intensity. Rough hands gripped his shoulders and forced him to turn around, keeping him in their steel grasp. "You don't say that to me! Talk to me, please! I'm here because I care about you. _Tell me _what's going on," Eames pleaded, searching Arthur's face with eyes that verged on desperate and Arthur didn't understand. If Eames cared so much why hadn't he said something before they parted? Asked for Arthur's number, something?

Arthur shoved Eames away from him, breathing heavily. "You care about me? Fuck that, Eames. You haven't spoken one word to me since the job, and then you just, just showed up at my door!" Arthur was practically yelling now, his constant aching, throbbing _hurt _feeling like a personal abandonment from Eames. "How am I supposed to take that?"

Eames let out a frustrated growl and ran his hand through his hair. "I…I didn't think you wanted to see me. I figured we'd just spent the past four months together and you were sick of me. I…" Eames sighed heavily, the tension draining from his body as he sat back down on the couch. "…I couldn't stand you turning me away."

Arthur watched him carefully, skeptical because there was no way that Eames felt for him the way he did for Eames. "Why?"

"Why, what Arthur?" Eames replied, running a tired hand over his face.

"Why wouldn't you be able to stand me turning you away?" Arthur asked, letting a soft omission slip out after. "Not that I would have."

Eames looked up at him after that, searching his face and then standing and stepping close to him, too close. "Certainly you must know Arthur. It's not as if I was subtle."

Arthur's brain felt muddled, confused. "Are you trying to tell me that all of that flirting, your teasing…that it meant something?" He asked, teetering on the edge. He waited with bated breath for Eames answer, because it would either heal him or end him. Eames took his face in those big hands again, pulling him closer, barely inches away.

"Certainly you must know, darling, that I'm in love with you," Eames whispered, staring into his eyes with such surety that Arthur's breath left him again. He grasped Eames arms and tried to keep from sobbing.

"Say it," he gasped desperately. "Say it again."

"I love you," Eames said fiercely, wrapping his muscled _beautiful_ arms fully around Arthur and dropping his lips to Arthur's ear. "I love you, I love you."

"Oh God," Arthur whimpered, not even caring at this point. "I love you too, so much." Eames pulled his head back with a ludicrous grin on his face and Arthur laughed, he laughed, because he couldn't believe this was happening and it was _everything _he wanted. And then they were laughing together, Eames starting out with small giggles that turned into the big guffaws that only he could make attractive. He wrapped himself back around Arthur, both laughing and breathing in each other and not daring to move away.

Finally Eames pulled back to look at Arthur's face, and he just stared at him for what felt like a long while, his gaze blazing. Suddenly Eames lips were on Arthur's, pressing, searching, consuming. Arthur felt like he was exploding in the best way possible, and he was pretty sure he was making desperate whimpering noises but he didn't care, didn't care about anything but Eames' lips on his own. A warm wet tongue slid against his bottom lip, and Arthur opened his mouth eagerly, moaning as Eames' tongue plundered his mouth for everything he was worth.

He felt Eames hands grip the back of his thighs and then he was lifting him off the ground, groaning into his mouth, "Arthur, fuck, where's your bedroom?" Arthur scrambled for a second, then wrapped his legs securely around Eames waist and pressed himself as close to the man as possible, moaning loudly as his erection ground against the hard bulge straining the front of Eames' terrible plaid trousers.

"Down the hall where the bathroom was," Arthur gasped, turning his head as Eames nipped at his pulse. "To the…_fuck_, Eames…the left." His response was a humming against his throat and then Eames began walking them towards Arthur's bedroom. As Eames navigated Arthur scraped his teeth down the column of Eames throat, nibbling at the taste of him. Eames grunted and faltered, slamming Arthur into the hallway wall.

"Stop doing that or we'll never make it to the bed," He growled, pinning Arthur's wrists to the wall and then twisting his hips against Arthur's. Arthur keened and arched of the wall. "You want us to make it to the bed, don't you darling?"

"Damnit, yes, yes, I'll stop," Arthur babbled, pressing his hips desperately against Eames. Eames grinned and kissed him roughly before backing away and walking them swiftly to Arthur's bed.

The bed bounced as Eames threw Arthur on top of it, immediately climbing on after him. He bit at Eames lips as soon as he was close enough, wrapping his legs around Eames' hips, not able to get enough of his taste, so perfect, so _Eames_. Both of their shirts were soon on the ground and Eames was practically ripping Arthur's pants off when he paused, pulling his lips away.

Arthur grasped at him, trying to pull his lips back down. "Arthur, Arthur," Eames soothed, running a hand through his dark already sweaty strands. "Shh, just, how far do you want to take this? I don't want to do anything you don't want."

A laugh almost escaped because that question was insane; Arthur had been dreaming of Eames inside of him for so long that it would be painful to not have him there. Arthur stroked up the sides of Eames ribs, twirling his fingers over the black swirls that decorated his left side, mesmerized by the contrast of the dark ink against his own pale skin. "Eames, I want all of you. I want you inside me, so deep that I'll be able to feel you for weeks. Fuck me, please." Arthur replied, panting and resting one of his hands against Eames chest, right on his heart, feeling it thump powerfully beneath his fingers.

"Fucking hell, Arthur," Eames groaned, sucking Arthur's bottom lip into his mouth and then yanking both of their pants and boxers off, leaving them finally, finally without any barriers. At the first touch of Eames bare skin pressed fully and completely against him, Arthur almost screamed, arching his back and raking his nails down Eames muscled arms. Eames thrust his leaking erection against Arthur's painfully throbbing cock trapped between them, and Arthur's vision went black for a second.

"Eames, please, need you," Arthur begged, already past the point of coherency. "Can't last, you feel so good, perfect, aaa-AHH," Arthur cried out as Eames nibbled on Arthur's nipple, the little nub swollen and tender, sending shooting tendrils of heat straight to Arthur's straining cock.

"Hold on, baby," Eames replied, pushing himself up on his arms, Arthur watching hungrily as the muscles bulged to support his weight. "Do you have lube? And…I got tested after the job and I'm clean, but if you're uncomfortable we can use a-"

Arthur wrapped his hand around Eames thick, oh god _huge, _cock and he cut off with a strangled moan. "Me too," Arthur said, watching avidly as his hand stroked up and down Eames' length. "I'm clean, lubes in the drawer, don't need a lot, just want you, hurry." Arthur released him so he could grab the lube and Eames stretched up across Arthur, fumbling around in the drawer until he found the small bottle. Arthur ran his hands down Eames chest and abs, feeling the taught muscles and sprinkling of hair, tattoos perfect against his tan skin. Eames was doing that thing again where he just stared at Arthur intently, and then he began pressing their mouths together gently, slowly increasing the heat. He nipped at Arthur's lips, dipping his tongue in lightly, then swiping all the way inside, twirling their tongues together, then delving into Arthur's mouth until Arthur felt like he was going up in flames, like they were becoming one even though Eames wasn't even inside him yet.

As soon as he thought it, a deep yearning overtook him; he needed Eames inside him, needed it with his whole being. Arthur flipped Eames onto his back, Eames startling out of the kiss with a surprised 'oof'. He inched slowly down Eames body, sucking kisses into his skin, tracing the tattoos on his arms and sides with his tongue as though he could imprint them into himself, mark himself as Eames'. Finally he reached his destination and nuzzled against Eames swollen member, which looked even more impressive up close. He gently took just the head into his mouth, sucking and flicking the sit with his tongue to taste his salty precome. Eames gave a shout and arched off the bed, sliding his hand into Arthur's hair and gripping tightly. "Fuck, Arthur!" Eames yelled as he swallowed more of the wide length into his mouth, swirling his tongue around and around.

Gripping the base, he began to bob up and down, sucking down the taste of Eames, his other hand trailing down the inside of a thigh to cup Eames' balls and roll them in his palm. Eames was gasping on every breath and almost ripping Arthur's hair out when he yanked Arthur back up to him.

"Darling," Eames panted against his lips, his eyes dilated and black, hungry, "if you keep doing that I won't get to finish inside of you." In a swift maneuver, he rolled himself and Arthur to the side, slipping his arm under Arthur's body so his already slick fingers could dip into the crack of his arse, brushing lightly against Arthur's hole. Now Arthur was the one gasping, pushing himself back against those fingers. "Please, please, in me Eames. I need you in me."

A slippery finger pressed into him, curving up before sliding back out and in and out and then in with a second finger. Arthur moaned loudly as two fingers entered him, the stretch in his hole buzzing through his entire body. By the time Eames had three fingers in him, Arthur was desperately trying to fuck himself on them, blabbering filthy things into Eames mouth. Eames only smirked and abruptly curled his fingers, pressing heavily against Arthur's prostate.

Arthur screamed. Waves of pleasure radiated through him and he barely held himself back from coming. "Please, please, please Eames now. In me. Need you so bad, fuck, _please_!" Arthur cried out, everything so intense he felt like he was going to fly out of his own body if Eames didn't get inside him soon enough.

"I've got you, I've got you," Eames said, slipping his fingers gently from Arthur's arse and slicking himself once, twice before lining his head up with Arthur's entrance. Time seemed to stop. Eames gripped Arthur's side and arse tightly, holding Arthur against him. He tilted his head up slightly, brushing his lips against Arthur's and Arthur wound his arm around Eames neck, sliding his fingers into Eames' soft, dark hair and cupping his slightly stubbled jaw with his other hand. They laid there in the silence, gasping into each other's mouth as though they were stealing air from one another. It felt like an eternity, poised at the edge of Arthur didn't know what, just brushing his lips softly against Eames and breathing in his air.

And then Eames whispered, "I love you more than anything, darling," and thrust fully inside of him. Arthur threw his head back, wanting to scream and scream in pleasure but so overwhelmed that he couldn't even make a sound, his back arched and mouth open. Eames began slowly thrusting in and out of him, gently working him back down until Arthur was letting out little gasps against Eames lips again. "You back with me, baby?" Eames whispered, breathing heavily.

"Yeah," Arthur whimpered, beginning to move himself up and down with Eames' thrusts. "Feel so good inside me. Love you, love you so much." Eames gave him another soul rendering kiss before rolling him on his back, moving quicker, deeper inside of him.

Eames hiked up Arthur's leg, gripping it by the inside of his knee and curved his other arm under Arthur's hip, tilting his hips up and slamming back into Arthur, groaning loudly as Arthur gripped down on him tightly. Arthur couldn't control his cries anymore as Eames plowed repeatedly into his prostate, moaning and whimpering as he tried to find purchase against the sheets.

"Yes, Eames! Nngghh, harder, harder! Fuck, fuck, feel so amazing. Do you like having your big cock inside me? Oh god, Eames, im close, so close," Arthur cried out, convulsing around Eames inside of him as he neared the edge. It was like nothing he had ever felt before; his body felt like it was flying, tingling all over, liquid pleasure running through his veins. Eames was mumbling back just as much filth, shoving himself deep inside Arthur's body.

Eames reached between their sweaty bodies and wrapped his hand around Arthur's cock, already leaking copiously on his stomach. At the first stroke of Eames hand, Arthur unraveled. He screamed out Eames name so loud he wouldn't be surprised if the people three floors above him heard it. His whole body seized up, his inner channel pulsing rapidly around Eames cock as he ground into Arthur, giving short deep thrusts right against his prostate. Arthur's cock exploded, shooting thick streams of white between them as Arthur yelled Eames name over and over.

As he was just descending from his orgasm, Eames pulled almost all the way out and then thrust sharply back in, forcing himself deeper than before, his cock swelling inside Arthur as he groaned unashamedly, and gasped out 'iloveyou' before emptying himself inside of him. The feel of Eames pulsing inside him carried Arthur through another orgasm, until both he and Eames were crying out against each other, and Arthur felt like he couldn't breath and he didn't want to ever again.

Slowly he came back to himself, feeling that somehow Eames had already slipped out of him, and was wrapped around him gently stroking his hair. His vision cleared and he locked eyes with Eames, smiling gently at him.

"Hi," Eames whispered, nuzzling kisses against his neck and Arthur hummed happily. "Are you okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?" Eames pulled back, scanning Arthur's body with concern. Arthur huffed a laugh and brought Eames lips towards his own, kissing him softly and slowly. "No, you certainly didn't do that."

Eames continued the kisses, slow and sucking, his hands traveling lazily over Arthur's tired body. As Eames covered him in warmth, Arthur felt it drift slowly inside him and fill the hollow spot, and he knew he had finally come home.

_Like a summer rose, I'm a victim of the fall_

_But I'm soon returning_

_Your love's the warmest place the sun ever shines_

_My morning yearning_

~Ben Harper, Morning Yearning


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